


Turn and Turn Again

by lazaefair



Category: Psych
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-22
Updated: 2013-09-22
Packaged: 2017-12-27 08:10:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/976459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazaefair/pseuds/lazaefair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Shawn/Jules/Lassie because I had to get it out of my id.</p><p>Also Lassie has a gun kink. Shawn doesn't so much like it as find it convenient.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turn and Turn Again

_now, in the sewers_

Shawn braced his hands on his knees and breathed deep, then regretted it since they were still in the Santa Barbara sewer. But it was good to breathe, to keep breathing. Lassie's Glock dangled from his fingers. It felt vaguely alien in his hands now that the whole damn thing was over. He'd invaded the castle, he'd shot the bad guy, he'd rescued the princess, he'd kept his reputation as a short mustachioed Italian plumber intact.

Splashing footsteps, approaching. "Spencer," the princess said, his voice more gravelly and destroyed than usual. Okay, so technically Monikka Westwood was the princess - she'd started out as his client - but the bitch was knocked out cold and Shawn had saved Lassiter's life too. 

"Spencer," Lassie tried again, and Shawn only looked up when Lassie tried to tug his gun out of his slack hands. Their faces weren't quite close-talking distance but not quite sworn enemy distance either. "Why do you think you're a short mustachioed Italian plumber?"

"Did I say that out loud? Oops," Shawn muttered. "Must be losing my grip on sanity."

"I doubt you ever came within gripping distance," Lassie muttered back, but his eyes were unfocused. The adrenaline wearing off, time perception crashing back into reality, shock setting in. Getting concussed and then coming within millimeters of getting his throat slit would do that to a man. 

"Your blood is really close," Shawn said, staring at the broken skin, the darkening rivulets creeping over Lassie's pale neck, right there in front of him. 

"Good job, Shawn." Lassiter wasn't paying attention. "Good shooting." And he dipped his head and put his mouth on Shawn's mouth. His lips were warm. Shawn hadn't even registered it as a kiss - or whatever it was - before it was over. "Good job," Lassie repeated, and patted his shoulder.

"Shawn? Carlton?" They turned their heads. "They're here! Over here!" Splashing, shouting, high-beam flashlights, the whole damn cavalry with Jules in front like a muddy avenging angel. Shawn watched Lassiter's entire face close up tight, his pupils contracting, the moment when full awareness filtered through. He let go of Shawn and stumbled backwards. 

Jules was there to catch him. Under the lights, the blood streaming down his neck stood out obscenely, soaking into his collar. "Jesus, Carlton." She turned and shoved her partner into another cop's arms. "Paramedics! Now!" 

"Jules, you look better than Bob's Shack's triple whipped fudge nut sundae on a 100 degree summer day." Shawn spread his arms out.

"Shawn," she said, skirting Papa Westwood's body with distaste. But she didn't go for the full body hug he clearly deserved. "Are you hurt? Do you need medical attention?"

"One hundred percent of Shawn Spencer is present and accounted for," he said, and she hugged him then. She smelled like girlsweat and mud and perfume and it smelled like heaven. Maybe a slightly sewer-y heaven, but still.

"I'm so glad you're okay."

"Except for the leeches nibbling on my adorable toes."

"There aren't any leeches in the sewer, Shawn."

"My gun? Where's my gun?" Lassie's dazed voice filtered through the crowd noise and Shawn felt the grin spreading across his mouth, watched the helpless smile cut through the tension on Jules's face. She hugged him tighter. He kissed her, because he was still breathing and he could.

It got even better above ground, out of the godawful sewers. Gus's face had always been somewhere in the Top 3 of Shawn's Most Favorite Beautiful Things - depending on whether Jules was in his line of sight at the time or a John Hughes marathon was airing on TV - and today Gus was definitely gunning straight for the number 1 spot with the huge, helpless, relieved expression on his face as he made a beeline for them. 

"I am going to kill you, Shawn. You hear me? I'm gonna kill you dead so you never do that again--"

"Oh come on, Gus, I had it all under control. I rescued the princess."

Gus pulled up short, his face crinkling in disgust. But attractively crinkling in disgust. "For the last time, Shawn, Monikka is _not_ a princess."

"Slow your toll, Gus. I meant Lassiter."

"What?"

 

_later, at home_

 

"And then he kissed me. Like it wasn't no thang."

She gently stroked his hair. They were cuddled on the couch, Thai takeout comfortably making its way through their digestive systems, and Jules had the best lap ever. She said, "Why do you think he did it?"

Shawn stared up at her. She didn't look surprised or weirded out or angry. She looked-- speculative.

"Oh my god. Don't tell me he kissed you too," he said and grinned when her eyes dropped and she blushed.

"It was just once. Almost exactly the same way - remember the Zalman murders? He saved my life but I shot John Zalman, and he just-- kissed me like he wasn't even thinking about it."

Right. Then Lassie had disappeared for an extra day, returned angrier than usual and refused to come within three feet of Jules. "So he tried to punish himself for it."

Jules shrugged. "He reported himself to Vick, and after she dismissed it he went and signed _himself_ up for a sexual harassment seminar."

"Wow. That's so Lassie."

"I know, right? He wouldn't touch me for weeks after that."

"I wonder if we can get Gus to shoot someone in front of Lassie." 

"Gus is straight, Shawn."

"But I thought Lassie was straight for years. My world is rocked, Jules, what might come next? Demonic choir boys seducing Pat Benatar? Anything's possible now."

Jules sighed and traced his ear. He restrained himself from purring. Okay, maybe he purred a little bit. "Maybe Lassiter's still straight," she said. "Maybe he just has a...gun kink, or something."

"Newsflash, Jules, _everybody_ knows he has a gun kink. Anyway, the point is, did you like it?"

Her fingers stilled. 

 

_next morning, in the precinct_

 

"Fuck. Not you. Not today," Lassie said, dropping his face into his hands. The bandages didn't do much for his complexion. At least he'd have a really cool scar, for attracting ladies and Shawns.

"And I was coming in just to see you specially," Shawn said, perching on Lassie's desk. "Really specially."

Lassiter looked like a hunted man. Shawn could already see the calculations running under that I'm-not-old-I'm-distinguished-salt-and-pepper hair and decided to be merciful just this once.

"I was just going to say, Jules and I are inviting you to dinner so you can thank me properly. You know. For saving your life and everything."

 _I don't owe you anything, Spencer,_ Shawn recited silently.

"I don't owe you anything, Spencer," Lassie snapped.

"Are you suuuure? Think hard, Lassie. I know your memory's not what it used to be but I know you can think real hard for me. Can you do that for me?" Shawn scooted closer and leaned in. He'd worn his special cologne today. The one with eau de pineapple in it.

"I'm not five years old, for god's sake," Lassie said, moving his files away.

"Then stop lying like one."

_"Spencer--"_

"I know you know that I know that you can lie way better than that, Lassie. If you really didn't remember, you would've kicked me out five minutes ago. Or maybe," Shawn grinned, inspiration striking, "maybe you would've manhandled me already. Get me up against a wall, or push me down like you've always wanted to do--"

"Spencer." Lassie had rolled his chair away, files forgotten, and his body language screamed _prey._

His eyes were very, very blue in his very, very white face.

"Yes, dear?" Shawn crossed his legs and put his hands primly on his knee, like he'd seen Jules do when she was in full-on flirt mode. He licked his lips for effect and watched Lassie's eyes track the motion. _Bingo._

"Spencer," Lassie rasped, and yes, that was a really nice pitch for his voice to go down to. "I don't-- I don't know what game you're playing now--"

"It's not a game," Shawn interrupted and hopped down from the desk. "It's dinner. 8 o'clock, Jules's place. She's really looking forward to it."

Then he left. Gus would be about halfway through his rounds now and Shawn had made it his urgent mission to help Gus out with Mario Kart and taco supremes. Besides, Lassie would tie himself into knots all day over this. And Shawn looked forward a lot to untying him.


End file.
